


Don't Judge A John By His Jumper

by CripplingSelfDoubtWithAKeyboard



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: All the Cute, Cute, Friendship, Kidlock, Platonic Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CripplingSelfDoubtWithAKeyboard/pseuds/CripplingSelfDoubtWithAKeyboard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mrs. Hudson thinks Sherlock needs to have more human interaction, Sherlock disagrees. </p>
<p>So, naturally when she brings her nephew to the Holmes house, someones not very happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Judge A John By His Jumper

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! First thing posted!  
> Special thanks to my brit-picker consultingsubspaceninja and my friend Haley for their support.
> 
> Edit: Had to fix some things, should be better now.

Sherlock pressed his ear to the cool wood of the door, doing his best to hold his breath. Inside his father's old study he could hear Mycroft's voice, vibrating lowly, and the soft, gentle thrumming tones of a female.  
"I don't think Sherlock will take lightly to such a thing." Mycroft sounded weary and Sherlock recognized the tones of concern in his older brother's voice.  
Sherlock's eyes widened as he pressed himself further against the door, straining his ears to pick up the softer volume of the woman.  
"Oh, nonsense." The female dismissed and Sherlock scrunched up his face, "He's at a young age, he needs social interaction. You know it's what's best for him, Mycroft."  
"I...Suppose you're right. But I still don't think Sher-"  
"Of course I'm right, I've been around for quite some time, dear."  
A soft sigh of resignation. Sherlock swallowed, now completely flattened against the door's surface.  
"Very well. When will he arrive?"  
"Oh, I can get him by the end of the week."  
"I suppose I'll tell Sherlock." Footsteps.  
Sherlock was up the stairs and in his room in an instant, crawling into the safely secluded corner of his closet, knees drawn to his chest. By the end of next week? Although Sherlock loved his nanny Mrs. Hudson dearly- She always gave him a biscuit after lessons, despite mummy's opinions on sweets - He had to say that right now she was being quite stupid. But then again that seemed to be a common illness in grownups.  
This would not do. No way was this stranger going to invade on his territory. It's not like Sherlock _needed_ friends. He was six years old, he could play just fine by himself. No sir, Mrs. Hudson was mistaken. Sherlock would hate whoever she could think to bring.  
Then she'd give up, of course she would. 

 

~ ~ ~  
"Now Sherlock, straighten up." Instructed Mrs. Hudson, voice stern, "Your guest will be here soon."  
She picked at his knotted curls, which were currently smothered in styling gel to keep them at bay, licking her thumb to wipe away some microscopic smudge.  
Sherlock blew out a loud puff of air, grudgingly sitting up in his chair, wiping furiously at the now damp spot on his chin. Apparently, stupidity only got worse instead of going away, seeing as Mrs. Hudson had only gotten worse during the duration of the past week. How unfortunate.  
But much like stupidity, stubbornness could not be cured. Sherlock had managed to keep his sour attitude towards the damned situation just as effectively.

_Damn her._

Mycroft was standing off to the side, supervising. He seemed as impassive as ever, though Sherlock thought he saw a sliver of sympathy.  
Sherlock pulled at his vest, annoyed. It was unpleasantly itchy.  
Mrs. Hudson tutted at his terrible posture, but was cut short-  
"Oh, he's here!" She gushed, rushing forward to embrace...Embrace _someone_ , whom Sherlock could currently not see, no matter how much he tried to subtly crane his neck, Mrs. Hudson shielding them from his sight. But the mystery did not last, as Mrs. Hudson stepped aside, pushing a boy looking about Sherlock's age towards him.  
The boy had light blonde hair, feathery in texture, and dark blue eyes with a chubby face round with baby fat. He was dressed in a much more casual manner than Sherlock, simply wearing a recently ironed t-shirt and shorts.  
Suddenly Sherlock felt quite foolish in his stiff, formal outfit of a crisp, starched white shirt, knitted cricket vest, and knee-length grey school shorts. It was completely ridiculous, seeing as he was the better dressed one here. But still, he found himself shifting, tugging at his clothes self-consciously.  
Already Sherlock did not like him.  
The other boy was staring resolutely at his feet, cheeks tinted. Sherlock leveled his best glare at him.  
Mrs. Hudson placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving him a little push towards Sherlock, "Say hello, John."  
The boy known as John peeked up, smiling timidly,  
"Hi."  
Sherlock 'hmphed' disdainfully, tilting his nose upwards. Off to the side Mycroft sighed.  
"Sherlock, will you show John to his room?" Sherlock tensed, looking at Mrs. Hudson.  
This time it was Sherlock's turn to be nudged forward,  
"Go on then. Off you go!"  
Internally horrified, externally reluctant, Sherlock muttered a low "Come on."  
John blinked at him, glancing back at Mrs. Hudson before shuffling after.

 

~ ~ 

Not much conversation as Sherlock coldly escorted John to his room, seeing as Sherlock was busy being outraged and John was busy staring open-mouthed at the house.  
The fact that John was staying on the grounds at all was _appalling_.  
Sherlock had been sure to make everyone aware of this, in fact. Two whole days he protested, which is quite a long time to protest, lying curled up under his blankets. He managed to coax food from the maids, taking the blanket to the bathroom with him when nature happened to call.  
His efforts were even enough to draw the attention of mummy, which was a big accomplishment indeed. It took her coaxing(as awkward and rigid as it was) and a pastry to finally get him to crawl out and into her lap.  
Despite all this dreaded John business, this time with mummy was definitely a plus.  
Sherlock opened the door to John's _temporary_ room with little ceremony, staring hard at this intruding force who made him feel foolishly dressed and unsure of himself.  
Blue eyes blinked.  
"Here?"  
Sherlock sniffed, "Obviously."  
John made the first unkind expression for Sherlock to witness, moving past. "Well thank y-"  
He was cut off when Sherlock let the door slam shut in his face. He felt quite satisfied. 

~ ~

The next three days John was avoided like the plague- Which Mycroft had told Sherlock about one time. Fascinating.  
Unfortunately, Sherlock disliked spending much time in his room because then it would get messy. It was already hard enough to get to sleep without having to clear mounds off his bed.  
This led to spending his time in small, hard to reach places, safely hidden away from Mrs. Hudson's or Mycroft's meddling as well as John. Places like in the back of the pantry, or under the kitchen sink. He could hide out for hours, content with a flashlight and his books. _Torture methods, how **interesting**_.  
When, however, the damp and dark got tiresome, Sherlock would retreat outside. It was easy to avoid John outside, seeing as the grounds were vast. 

Dinnertimes, however, were spent forced next to John. When mummy managed to make it, she seemed absolutely enthralled with him, showering him with all kinds of questions.  
"How was your day, John?"  
"How do you like it here, John?"  
"Do you like the food John?"  
"Would you like a pastry, John?"  
"Oh, you don't have to eat that, John. It's fine."  
On and on and on.  
Sherlock would merely grip his fork, knuckles white, shooting John his most venomous looks when no one was looking.  
" _Mummy_ , today I learned that in the Spanish Inquisition they used to string people up by their hands on the ceiling and-"  
"Not now, dear."  
"Mummy, can I have a pastry?"  
"No, dear. You'll rot your teeth."  
"Mummy, can I stop eating?"  
"Nonsense, finish your meal."  
Oh, how he _hated_ John. 

And when mummy wasn't there, Sherlock was actually expected to talk to the parasite-'An organism that lives in or on another organism (its host) and benefits by deriving nutrients at the host's expense.' He'd read that. It seemed to suit John.- Which was completely ridiculous.  
But still Mrs. Hudson would try, gently prodding.  
"Sherlock, you like to spend time outside, don't you? So does John. You two should go together sometimes, I'm sure Sherlock knows all kinds of nice places to play."  
"No." Sherlock would snap, before adding a stiff,"Thank you."  
He'd look apologetically at Mrs. Hudson, but direct an icy glare towards John if he happened to look over, face open and curious.  
 _Don't even think about it._ He would try and communicate through his eyes. His message seemed to get through.  
"Sherlock, are you still reading all those books? Maybe John would like to borrow one, yes?"  
Sherlock would smile politely,"I have one on the stages of decomposition."  
John would visibly grimace, much to Sherlock's delight- Not very good at hiding his thoughts, this one- muttering a low "No thank you." 

Still, Mrs. Hudson wouldn't give up. Sherlock understood that this was her nephew- Not that he could actually see any resemblance. Mrs. Hudson was kind, gentle, soft. Maybe occasionally overbearing. John was quiet, dull, but most importantly _wrong_. Everything about him screamed it. he didn't belong on the landscape of Sherlock's universe, and Sherlock felt it.  
And yet, Mrs. Hudson insisted on his presence. Insisted on making Sherlock actually acknowledge said presence.  
Which is why she finds Sherlock in the pantry and orders him to go outside.  
"John's out there somewhere, go and find him ." She said, shooing him away.  
Sherlock grudgingly obliged, knowing that if he didn't mummy would tell him how disappointed she was and forbid desserts.  
So, clutching a book on agriculture, he stepped out into the garden from the side door.

~~  
The air outside was pleasant and clear as Sherlock walked, observing patches of soil from afar. He touched tentatively at mummy's roses, moving to sit between two bushes and opening his book.  
He was five chapters in when he heard footsteps. Heavy, clumsy footsteps.  
He snapped his book shut, tensing.  
Sure enough a head of light blond hair bobbed past. Sherlock curled up tight, ignoring the thorn poking into his leg, praying for him to just _walk past_.  
But he stopped, peeking into Sherlock's little nook.  
Sherlock glared.  
 _Go away go away go away go **away**_  
John wiped his nose, tossing an apple into the air.  
"Whatcha doing?"  
Sherlock huffed in frustration," _Reading_. Now if you could just _leave me alone_."  
John grinned- Actually grinned! Wait, had Sherlock said something humorous? - And instead of going away, which Sherlock was hoping he'd do, he sits down.  
 _The nerve!_  
Sherlock decided the best tactic was to ignore him, seeing as that was what Mycroft normally preferred to do when he was being bothersome.  
John didn't seem bothered, sitting crossed legged and wiping the apple on his shirt.  
"What are you reading?"  
Sherlock glanced up, tapping the title which was clearly visible. _Moron_.  
John raised an eyebrow at it, making a soft 'hmph' sound that could mean anything, taking a bite of his apple.  
Sherlock shrugged it off, curling up tighter.  
"Why is your mum never around?" John asked casually as he chewed.  
Sherlock's fingers tightened around his book, and he turned the page harder than necessary.  
"She works." He snapped, forgetting about ignoring him.  
"Yea, but she doesn't do any mum stuff. Auntie does all the mum stuff for her. So, that makes her more your mum than your mum."  
"Shut up." Sherlock snapped his book shut, giving John his meanest look.  
John seemed unfazed. He took another bite of his apple.  
"Is she never here because you don't have no dad?"  
Sherlock had never been known to have a temper, but apparently he'd just never been tested enough to show that he, in fact, did. very much so.  
Without his consent his body was barreling forward, tackling John into the dirt. The other boy let out a surprised squeal, but soon recovered, tugging at Sherlock's curls.  
It stung. Sherlock hissed, batting at his hands.  
Sherlock had never gotten into a fight before, but so far it was not pleasant.  
John flipped Sherlock onto his back, and Sherlock grunted as a fist met his cheek with force. He lashed out blindly, managing to jab his elbow into John's ribs.  
For a minute they rolled around in the dirt- snapping, slapping, tugging - until at last they both fell apart, panting.  
A great headache was coming on, and his cheek stung, while John had nail marks on his neck and his arm was bright red from Sherlock pulling on it.  
For a minute they stared. Sherlock felt exhausted, too tired to muster a nasty look. John was looking around, frowning.  
Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow.  
"I lost my apple." John stated blandly.  
Sherlock blinked,"Oh...I think I might have chucked it at your head..."  
And then they were laughing.  
Sherlock hadn't the faintest why. By all rights they should be fuming right now, absolutely hating each other . But it seemed they both were too tired now, and for some mysterious reason highly amused.  
Once the giggles had slowly died away, John pulled himself to his feet, rubbing at his side.  
"You owe me a new one, then."  
Sherlock scoffed, "Please, you've been eating from my kitchen for weeks. If anything that apple is less than half of what I'm due."  
John held up his hands in mock surrender, "Fine, fine. Consider the apple the beginnings of me paying you back."  
Sherlock blinked.  
"Oh..Okay.."  
He felt the urge to squirm. Suddenly he very much longed for his safe confined area in the pantry.  
John offered him a hand. He stared at it.  
"It's not going to hurt you." John seemed amused.  
Sherlock gave him a weak glare, taking his hand,"I know that."  
"Should we get Auntie to grab the first aid?" John gestured to Sherlock's bruised cheek. Sherlock touched it, wincing as he felt a sharp sting, skin pulsing.  
"No." He said quickly, "She can't know."  
John seemed unconvinced.  
"I know what to do, come on."  
Sherlock walked towards the side of the house, and John followed skeptically.  
~~ 

After insuring the coast was clear, and with John standing watch, Sherlock managed to scramble on top of the kitchen counter and swipe the first aid kit, which was kept on the top of the fridge.  
Once safely acquired, Sherlock also grabbed two towels, wrapping ice inside of them.  
Then, the boys snuck their way back outside, sitting safely behind a bushel of tomato plants.  
Sherlock winced as John helped him disinfect his cut.  
"Ouch!"  
"Oh, stop whining."  
"You're pressing too hard."  
"Am not!"  
"You are!"  
"You're impossible." John rolled his eyes, but there was no malice, just mild annoyance.  
They both hissed in unison as they pressed ice packs to their swollen skin- John on his side, Sherlock on his face.  
"Blimey do you got some sharp elbows." John grumbled, shifting in discomfort.  
Sherlock felt smug.  
A moment of silence passed. Not an awkward one per se, but the kind of silence where both people are lost in their own trains of thoughts and perfectly content with the silence.  
"I'm sorry." John said abruptly, causing Sherlock to jump, his eyes averted,"For talking about your mum like that."  
Sherlock shifted, "Whatever."  
John frowned.  
"Don't worry about it." Sherlock amended, picking at a leaf nearby.  
John smiled. 

~~~~

After that day, John tended to hang around Sherlock a lot more, and Sherlock stopped hiding.  
It seemed Mrs. Hudson was forever wearing a pleased smile these days, and mummy was always cheerful.  
She even took John and Sherlock out for ice cream once, on one of her rare occasional days off.  
Sherlock still counts it in his top five best days.  
John wasn't nearly so horrible anymore, not when he laughed when Sherlock joked and called him wonderful things like genius and brilliant and listened to him talk endlessly about his books.  
In fact, Sherlock even found himself seeking out John's company at times, when the house was too quiet.  
Sherlock even started to see a bit more resemblance between him and Mrs. Hudson, after a while. 

Maybe all grownups weren't so stupid after all.


End file.
